Just to Hear Your Voice
by Petchricor
Summary: What if Grif said 'shotgun' instead? What if Sarge fell off the cliff and died in Grif's place? Grif can't help but just miss the old man's voice, so he decides to hear it again *rated T for swearing. WARNING: FEELS INBOUND*


**I had this idea randomly while watching season 7 again (such an underrated season). Yeah, just, random feels. Enjoy**

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Grif grabbed his DMR from the ground, attached the cord to his hip, and fired on the Meta to get his attention. Grif called out to him and fired again as he approached the large freelancer. His heart was pumping and his limps tingled with adrenaline, his ears filling with a rushing noise as he fired again and the Meta approached him. He heard Sarge shout at him from his place beside Simmons but he ignored him and fired again, grunting as the gun was knocked from his grasp and a hand enclosed around his throat. He grabbed the Meta's wrist and coughed a bit from the tightness but managed to gasp in a breath.

"That didn't work out too well," he said loudly so the others could hear. "If only I had used a _shotgun_ instead." He glanced over to Sarge a bit, noticing he hadn't moved Grif rolled his eyes. "Shotgun dammit!" Sarge instantly jumped into action and Simmons followed his lead towards the warthog. Grif turned back to the Meta and grunted when the grip tightened around his neck, he grabbed the cord and raised the heavy attachment. "Hey, Meta, mind settling a bet?" _Clunk_, it attached to his chest plate. "Does that thing kinda look like a big cat to you?" Meta looked over and went rigid when he saw Simmons and Sarge, looking down at the cord then up at Grif with a growl that he guessed was a curse. "See ya." Grif grunted as the Meta released him and he hit the snow, looking up to see him heading towards the edge. "YEAH!" Some snow got onto his visor when he attempted a fist pump.

Grif's heart stopped when he saw the Meta grab Sarge's leg and drag him towards the edge, he saw Simmons leap towards him and grab on just as the Meta flew down into the water. Grif lept to his feet and bolted over to help Simmons pull Sarge up, he had never run so fast. Simmons cried out and grabbed at nothing but the snow as Sarge fell, Grif coming up right beside him with a soft pant. Simmons didn't move and Grif knelt down to look over the edge, his breath hitching as he saw the older man hit the ice below. Whatever had kept him going flowed out of his body and he suddenly felt cold, his heart barely pumping and tears pricked at his eyes. He took in a shaky breath and got to his feet, ignoring Simmons looking up at him as he turned to walk away. Tucker moved over as Grif walked passed, murmuring something that was missed by the orange soldier, and Grif saw Church go into the memory unit. Simmons ran passed him and he sighed.

"I'm sorry dude," Tucker said from beside him. "But, who knows, maybe he'll be back, we don't die that easy anyway." Grif grunted and walked over to Simmons and the others, getting Doc to look over at him. Grif glanced back and saw Wash lying in the snow, completely still.

"Doc, go check on Wash, I don't think he's gonna make it," Grif told him. Doc nodded and, after a short pause, Grif followed behind him to help Wash. Grif didn't speak at all as the assembled Church's armor over the ex-freelancer and were debriefed by the officers that came to clean up the whole mess, this didn't go unnoticed by Simmons but did go unmentioned the whole way home. Grif had landed after awhile to offer the Blues a ride, which they excepted, but he never talked other than the offer. Grif didn't speak because that just wasn't something you did when you had so much to think about, he had just lost his leader and someone he had known for years. Sure, Sarge had been an asshole on more than one occasion but at the end of the day Grif knew he could count on the old man to kill someone before they killed him, even if he excused it by telling them only he was allowed to kill Grif. Honestly, he'd miss the old coot a lot more than he'd like to admit.

When they got back to Valhalla Grif mumbled something about being tired to Simmons and walked into the base silently. Luckily, Simmons didn't question him and even gave him enough time to quickly sneak into Sarge's room before going to his own and locking the door behind him. Grif leaned against the wall and slid down, an extremely old and tattered tape recorder in his hands. He stared at it awhile, looking at the words Sarge's, don't touch written over some blue tape. A good while ago Sarge had told Grif that if he died he had recorded fifty-seven hours worth of rants for him in case he felt good about himself, he hadn't taken it seriously of course but after seeing the man fall off a cliff he found that all he wanted to do was listen to his gruff, irritating voice again.

He pulled his helmet off and set it beside him, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. After a moment he looked down at the box and pulled out a tape labeled, Set 1. He hesitated but put it into the recorder and, after turning the volume down, pressed play with an armored finger. There was a slight pause and Grif wondered if it even worked, then his old CO's voice came through.

"Was that even the record button? Is this stupid thing on? Wait…" Grif smiled a bit. "Yeah, it's on. Ok, good. Now, Grif, you have undoubtedly just done somethin' stupid or lazy and feel pretty proud of yerself, well you shouldn't ya cockbite! Yer lazy and stupid and I can't believe Simmons even trusted ya with somethin', even if it was just moppin' the floor! I bet you used oil and set it on fire, didn'tchya? You would do somethin' dumb like that!" Grif hadn't even thought of that but mentally thanked Sarge for the idea, maybe he should try it sometime. "You're a good fer nothin' lazy bum and I'm ashamed t' call ya a soldier!" There was a pause and Grif raised an eyebrow. "That's all I got…" There was a soft click and another pause. "Consarnit that wasn't the stop button!" Grif laughed quietly at that and the tape stopped.

"Way to go, Sarge," Grif said with a soft shake of his head. He thanked whatever God that may exist that Simmons didn't bother him for the next few hours as he listened to all of Sarge's different recordings, being called all sorts of names and being told over and over how incompetent and rude and lazy he always was, but for once Grif didn't mind in the least. It wasn't until about the nineteenth tape that Grif noticed he was crying, he sniffled and wiped his face. He sighed and put the recorder and tapes away, deciding to save some for later as he pushed it under his bed. He sighed and jumped when someone knocked on the door. "Hold on." Grif got up and opened the door. "Oh, hey Simmons…"

"Hey…" Neither one spoke a moment, Simmons looking at the floor and Grif averting his gaze to the wall behind Simmons. "I'm sorry." Grif blinked and looked at his teammate in surprise, but before he could ask Simmons spoke. "I'm sorry that I couldn't hold on tighter so we could save him, I'm sorry that I didn't grab on before he got that close to the edge and, goddamnit, I'm sorry I just couldn't do it better than I did! If I had, maybe he wouldn't be dead! I'm sorry." Grif yanked the man forward and hugged him tightly, not to surprised that the maroon soldier was blaming himself for their Sergeant's death. "Why am I even telling you this, you don't care." But even as he spoke Simmons held tighter to his teammate. Grif huffed and dragged Simmons into his room, sitting him on the bed.

"Don't judge a book by its cover jackass," Grif snapped halfheartedly as he took the box out from under his bed. Simmons watched in surprise and confusion. "Awhile ago, Sarge said that he had recorded fifty-seven hours worth of rants just in case he died and I felt good about myself." Grif sat down with the box between them. "I've been listening to them for a few hours…" Grif took out the tape recorder and put another one in, pressing play where he had left off as Simmons stared at the device outputting their leader's voice, Grif doing the same. Neither one spoke as Sarge came up with stupid things Grif could have done and saying how dumb it was. Grif sighed and stopped it when the rant was done, putting it back in the box then under the bed. "Why do you think I actually ran for once?" Grif mumbled the sentence and Simmons stared at Grif, not sure what to think. Simmons looked down.

"Sorry…" he muttered, grunting when Grif gave him a light punch to the shoulder.

"Would you stop saying that? I'm not insulted, just not letting you believe lies about me," Grif muttered back. "No one blames you for that, not even me. And I doubt Sarge would either dude, even he wasn't that cruel." Simmons just nodded but didn't' say anything. There was a long, uncomfortable silence between the two before Grif sighed. "So, it's just us now, isn't it?" Simmons nodded sadly and Grif let out another sigh. "Great. Three teammates, one week. Must be a record or something." Simmons got up and walked out tensely, obviously upset by Grif's words, and the door slid shut. Grif face palmed. "Idiot! Of course he's blaming himself for their deaths too! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Grif fell back onto his bunk and a choked sob escaped as he rolled over and curled up. If he had been faster maybe he could have helped Simmons pull Sarge up, he would be bickering with Sarge right now instead of crying his eyes out and wishing that it had been him instead. Maybe Grif was blaming himself too. "DAMNIT!" Grif lashed his foot out and it impacted the wall, leaving a large dent in the hard concrete but he didn't wince as his foot throbbed with pain. "Why did I hesitate? I should have gotten there faster to help, but no, I had to blow it! The one time it actually mattered and I couldn't do it! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" Grif gripped his hair tightly and panted heavily. Then, with no options left, he wept where he lay.

AΩ

Grif and Simmons always argued, that was a given, but after Sarge's death they didn't just argue with each other, they screamed. Their new found hate for each other could be heard throughout the entire canyon and on woke the others up practically every night. Sometimes Wash would wake up to find the Grif had come and spent the night in Tucker's room to get some piece, the two eating breakfast in silence as Tucker had a sympathetic look on his face. The yelling and screaming had made them all uncomfortable and uneasy, but none more than Grif. Grif didn't like screaming as Simmons, no matter how irritating he could be sometimes, but it seemed that no matter what happened Simmons always started screaming at him and since Simmons wouldn't leave him alone until he felt the matter was settled, Grif would scream back.

Everyday Grif would put his armor on to the sound of Sarge's recordings telling him how stupid and useless he was, in most ways it didn't effect him because Sarge telling him these things had never bothered him but hearing his dead CO's voice made the loss even worse even if he told himself it made him feel better. He knew Simmons was suffering just as much as he was from Sarge's death but why did Simmons have to scream at him all the time? Couldn't he find some other way to let it out? He supposed not if this is was Simmons was reduced to. One day, however, Grif passed Simmons room and heard him crying, so with a sigh he knocked on the door.

"Simmons?" The only response was a choked sob so Grif opened the door, frowning at the sight of Simmons curled up in the corner sobbing. He sighed and went over, sitting beside him and tensing in surprise when Simmons latched onto him tightly. Grif put an arm around him firmly. "Hey, come on man, it's ok, we'll get through this. Ya know, like we always do." He patted his shoulder as Simmons continued to cry, trembling terribly with his face buried in the crook of Grif's neck. Grif just sat their, arm around Simmons' shoulders, as his teammate let it all out.

"I'm sorry I yell at you," he sobbed out after awhile. "I know I'm being an asshole but I don't know what else to do! Sarge was never the best leader"-grif silently agreed-"but he was always there, when we actually needed him to he always had a plan for us to follow and kept us in line. Now, without him, I'm not even sure what to do with myself anymore!" Grif opened his mouth with a smart remark in his mind but shut in instantly, rejecting the thought. He sighed heavily.

"Yeah, I know whatchya mean buddy," he said softly. "I dont know what to do either." The crying soon stopped and they both just sat there together, enjoying the calm company of the other soldier beside them. "Hey, Simmons?" Simmons looked up in acknowledgement at the statement. "Nevermind, it was dumb anyway." Simmons glared up at him and Grif sighed, leaning head back. "Laugh and I'll kill you." Simmons nodded. "You wanna…ya know, share a room again? I hate being along at night. It somehow feels…creepy." Simmons nodded.

"Sure, Grif. I know exactly what you mean." And with that the two shared the room at the very end of the hall, leaving Sarge's untouched and using Grif's for storage (more like all of Grif's clutter so their actual room stayed clean). The screaming stopped and the two Red soldiers fell into a peaceful alliance with one another.

AΩ

Grif was taking his armor off for the rest of the evening as he mumbled under his breath, quoting the rant he was listening to almost perfectly as he got up to put his civvies on. He slipped a shirt on, then sweatpants, and lastly his combat boots slipped over his feet and he let out a sigh of content at being out of his heavy armor, turning to look at the tape recorder that was spewing the rant out at him. He put a finger up, trying to imitate Sarge the best he could by his memory.

"And one last thing," he said with the recording. "Never, ever, not even if you feel like you absolutely should, pat yerself on the back or let Simmons do it for ya. Because, no matter what ya do, you will never deserve it!" Grif chuckled and turned the tape off, putting it in the box and under his bed. It had been almost two months now but it felt so much longer, Grif felt that he and Simmons were starting to recover after the harsh battle and they had even started to get along with the Blues too, which was actually a lot of fun. He lay down on his bunk and stared up at the ceiling silently, wondering if Simmons was almost done with his evening run yet. He sighed and closed his eyes tiredly, rolling his eyes behind the lids when the door opened. "Where the hell have you been?"

"It started raining, so it took me awhile," Simmons told him. Grif opened his eyes and looked over to see Simmons drying his hair off with a towel. Grif grunted in reply and closed his eyes again. "You too asshole." Grif smirked as Simmons lay down with a happy sigh and they fell into a comfortable silence. Grif gave up on seeing Sarge again, they were lucky not immortal, and was surprised to find that it didn't upset him as much as he thought it should have. He had to realize that this was their life now, and that was it. "Uh…Grif…" There was a soft click and Grif's eyes snapped open to see two guns pointed at them.

"Hi, I'm Carolina…"

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**And that's a wrap! No, I wont be continuing, I just thought the ending would be funny.  
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**Thanks for reading, please review, and have a bow chicka bow wow day~**

**Petchricor, QotG, signing off ;)**


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